


Driving Stick Shift

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: During Canon, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-30
Updated: 2006-06-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:50:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8709502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Dean's impersonating a teacher. Sam likes it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Title: Driving Stick Shift  
Author: Impertinence  
Rating: Adult  
Summary: Dean's impersonating a teacher. Sam likes it.  
  
  
  
||  
  
“What time’s lunch, again?”  
  
Sam groans and leans back in his chair, whispering in Dean’s ear. “I already told you, idiot, it’s at one-thirty. Now can you please stop? These kids are trying to take a quiz. And you’re _supposed_ to be their teacher.”  
  
“Well, it’s not my fault you wanted to be the assistant.” Now he’s slamming his knuckles down on the desk and jiggling his foot. “Jesus Christ, this day is going by so slowly.”  
  
“Right. You’ve only been here for an hour.”  
  
Dean turns his head and pulls his glasses down. They’re thin wire frames but he treats them like sunglasses, giving Sam a bitchy look that makes him squirm.  
  
Not that he’s planning on admitting it, or anything.   
  
“An hour,” Dean says, enunciating disturbingly well, “is too fucking long. For anyone.”  
  
Sam stretches back in his chair. Hey, Dean’s the one who was convinced they had to pose as teachers to infiltrate this school. It’s his suckass luck that Sam gets to be the TA and Dean’s stuck wearing the suit with the glasses, and carrying the ruler, and…  
  
Well, fuck.  
  
Abruptly he stands up. “If you’ll excuse us, my br—superior and I need to have a talk. Get rowdy and die.”  
  
The sixth graders just look at him like he’s gone crazy, which is actually pretty accurate. He grabs a fistful of the crinkly white fabric that is Dean’s shirt, pulling him forward. Dean doesn’t struggle but he can feel the tense muscles, see the way his shoulders twitch under the black fabric.  
  
“Dude, what the hell,” he hears Dean hiss. And now his brother’s struggling but Sam just keeps walking past classrooms (full of innocent kids, the conscience he’s abandoned whispers) until he finds what he’s looking for.  
  
A storage closet.  
  
He turns back to Dean with what he knows is a shit-eating grin on his face and Dean, man, Dean starts _panicking._ He struggles against Sam’s grip, whispering “fuck” and “geroff!” and Sam’s favorite, “you are dead fucking meat, bro”.  
  
But interestingly enough, he never actually breaks Sam’s grip. So when Sam shoves him into the closet, backs him up against the wall, and grinds his hips down into Dean’s, he’s smirking.  
  
“It got you hot, didn’t it?” he whispers. “Me calling you my superior. Bet you’d love to see me down on my knees right now, sucking your cock. Are you even wearing underwear?”  
  
Dean’s only response is a moan.   
  
Sam nips at his ear. “But there’s a problem with that, see.” Lick. “I mean, watching you, I got so fucking horny. And then I just wanted to bend you over the desk and fuck you, or sit in that nice leather chair and let you suck my dick under the desk.”  
  
Dean actually trembles and thrusts against him, making some weird grunting noise that Sam guesses is supposed to be manly.   
  
“You’re gonna call me a twerp later, maybe tell me I’m not quite ready for the big leagues yet.” Hands on Dean’s shoulders, feeling the tense muscle underneath. Leg snaking behind his. “But guess what?”  
  
And now Dean opens his eyes just enough to look right at Sam and say hoarsely, “What?”  
  
Sam thrusts his hips down one more time, eyes all but rolling back in his head at the sensation, before yanking his foot. Dean slides down the wall and ends up with his mouth inches from Sam’s now extremely uncomfortable crotch.  
  
_Finally._  
  
“You’re going to be too busy sucking me off to say a damned _word_ ,” he growls, reaching down to unzip his pants.  
  
But Dean apparently has other ideas. Eyes narrowed through the glasses, he bats Sam’s hands away and does the job himself, pulling him out and fuck, _clutching_ him like he thinks he’s driving a Goddamned stick shift.  
  
“You never did learn, little brother.” Despite the fact that he’s pressed against the wall and probably seriously uncomfortable on the floor, Dean sounds annoyingly, completely confident and in control. “I’m gonna suck you off, and in return you’re going to do everything I say.”  
  
_Like hell I will_ is on the tip of Sam’s tongue, but then Dean moves his mouth over Sam’s balls and suddenly all his talking is moans and grunts and—yeah, whining too.  
  
“Turn around,” he urges quietly, and in a daze Sam obeys, switching positions with Dean.   
  
Hard hands pressing against, him, spreading his legs, and before he knows what’s happening Dean’s fingers are inside him.  
  
“Shit!” he hisses, arching into the wall his face is pushed against. “Do you even have anything?”  
  
He can feel Dean smirking. “You want anything?”  
  
“Yes!”  
  
Dean chuckles. “Alright, alright, calm down.”  
  
Then there’s cold wetness against him again except this time it’s probing his ass and Jesus, when he’d said he wanted something he hadn’t meant Dean’s _tongue._  
  
“Oh God,” he gasps out, pushing against Dean’s face almost in spit of himself. “Dean—oh god.”  
  
“Not too creative, Sam,” Dean murmurs, pulling back and pushing two fingers in again. “You wanna hear what I’m going to do to you?”  
  
_No._ “Please…”  
  
“I’m just gonna keep on doing this until you’re nice and open. Loose.” The fingers turn and push up and Sam feels it, fucking _shooting_ through him, and he can’t help the way his hips thrust or the whimper that escapes him. “Then I’ll thrust into you, make you cry and claw at me. Teach you who’s boss here.”  
  
“You can’t—“  
  
The crinkly tearing noise makes him stop dead.  
  
“Can’t I?” Dean’s voice is soft, deadly, eerily reminiscent of the shapeshifter that had stolen his body. “Hey, I’m the one in charge, remember?”  
  
Then calloused hands are turning him around and _ohshit_.  
  
Dean’s standing in front of him, pants unzipped, rolling a condom down his cock. His lips are peeled back from teeth that clench the wooden ruler tightly. It’s the hottest fucking thing Sam’s ever seen until Dean lies down on the (luckily relatively clean) floor.  
  
“Turn around.”  
  
It’s barely a whisper, and Sam remembers for the first time in what feels like years that they are, in fact, in the middle of a school that’s host to a few hundred gremlins.   
  
Later he’ll wonder how wrong it is that the thought just makes him harder.  
  
When a cold, slick finger touches him again Sam realizes exactly what Dean has in mind. He breathes in sharply, almost painfully, but instead of flinching away he moves back, relishing the slow stretch and pull.  
  
“We don’t need to,” he says, almost managing a whisper. “I’m ready.”  
  
He can’t see it but he knows Dean’s smirking. “Alright then,” Dean says, and then hands are on his hips, pulling him down.  
  
Dean’s not exactly huge but he’s fucking _wide_ , and somehow at this angle Sam feels tighter than usual. When the head of Dean’s cock slips past the first ring of muscle he exhales raggedly, feeling—something. Not just the slow, burning stretch, but something else, something that feels a lot like walking in the door on a rainy day and feeling the warmth of home.  
  
_Slap!_  
  
And just like that Sam’s snapped out of it, wrenched back into the world where his brother’s fucking him on the floor of a closet, back to the sensation making his body arch and shudder and the pain from where Dean’s hit him with the ruler.  
  
Dean smacks him again, a sharp blow to the shoulder. Sam knows himself just well enough to not be surprised when the action sets his head spinning.  
  
He reaches out compulsively and clutches Dean’s knees, his breath now coming in ragged near-sobs.  
  
“I love this.”  
  
Dean’s not even bothering to whisper anymore. _God._  
  
“I love seein’ you like this. Hearing you gasp.” A sharp thrust upward. “You’ve always done this you know, even when we were kids. I could tell how you felt, just by your breathing.”  
  
Sam proves him right by gasping again.  
  
“And now you’re riding me.” Brutal twist of the hips, a slow grind. “All that muscle…long legs, arms, all of it—on top of me. And my cock is buried in you.”  
  
Now Sam’s moving too, thrusting back and punching the tiled floor with white-knuckled fists, unable to restrain his need to touch something, anything.  
  
The edge grows and just keeps growing, past the point of where he’d be able to stop himself from coming, more and more intense until he’s shaking, crying out, begging Dean to please just end it now oh God please—  
  
Then Dean clutches his shoulders, rears up, and his glasses are digging into the space behind Sam’s ear as he finds Sam’s neck and kisses and sucks it.  
  
“Love you,” he whispers before reaching around and gripping Sam’s dick, twisting his hand roughly.  
  
Then Sam’s coming, moaning long and low in the back of his throat. It should be humiliating, degrading even, but when he reaches back over his shoulder Dean is there to meet him.  
  
He shudders again when Dean comes inside him, his dick pulsing, tongue fluttering around Sam’s fingers.  
  
They sit like that for a few minutes before Dean grins against Sam’s neck. “I gave you a hell of a hickey.”  
  
Sam thumps his leg half-heartedly. “Jackass.”  
  
“So, if I dress up like a teacher more often, do I get to fuck you more?”  
  
Sam eases out of Dean’s lap, wincing. “God, you sure know how to make me wish I’d just knocked you out.”  
  
Dean tucks the ruler back into his pants when he stands up. “You love me.”  
  
“Unfortunately.”  
  
They’re still bickering when they get back to the classroom. Dean strides in with a cocky smile, plopping down in his chair. “Hey there, class. Miss us?”  
  
One of the boys raises his hand.   
  
Dean cocks an eyebrow at him. “Yeah?”  
  
“My mom’s a lesbian. It’s a perfectly valid lifestyle with many benefits,” the boy announces proudly.  
  
Dean snorts. “Yeah, I’ll bet. Ow!”  
  
Sam just raises his boot again in a clear threat. “Thanks for telling us, Billy,” he says without taking his eyes off his brother.  
  
The minute hand moves another millimeter forward. Nine forty-two.  
  
As the kids resume their work, Dean pokes Sam. “What time is lunch again?”  
  
This time, Sam lets himself roll his eyes.  
  
It’s gonna be a long day.  
  
||


End file.
